


Fashion

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Kid Fic, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 15:16:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20837660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Noctis dresses wrong.





	Fashion

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

At this point, Noctis really should be old enough to show up in the training hall on his own. He’s still a little pipsqueak that Gladiolus could lift over his head with one hand, but it’s not a long way from Noctis’ third floor quarters to Gladiolus’ sessions on the ground floor. It’s more that Noctis just doesn’t _want_ to go on his own. Left to his own devices, he’d probably lock himself in his bedroom and play video games all day. So Gladiolus has to go up and pound on his door.

After a bit of shuffling on the other side, it creaks open. Gladiolus looks down, and Noctis looks up, eyeing his massive shield with the same lazy expression he turns to everything. Normally, that haughty attitude pisses Gladiolus off, but it’s harder to take it seriously in his current attire. 

Noctis is wearing a fluffy black onesie with the hood pulled up. It has big rectangular cat ears and a fat tail out the back. The stomach portion is white, the crotch all the way down to his knees.

He looks ridiculous.

He looks up at Gladiolus expectantly like everything’s normal and he’s the coolest tiny prince ever.

Gladiolus stifles a snort and orders, “Go get dressed—it’s training time.”

Noctis counters, “I am dressed.”

“Then go get undressed and put on something else. You can’t train in that.”

Noctis challenges, “Ignis gave it to me,” like that means anything. When Gladiolus just frowns, Noctis adds, “It’s super comfy. I’m not taking it off.”

“Noct. You can’t train in that.”

“Sure I can.”

Gladiolus’ eyes narrow. Noctis remains unfazed. Gladiolus has half a mind to pick him up, turn him upside down, and shake him right out of it.

Their stare-off is interrupted by Ignis sidling up next to Gladiolus, primly dressed in his usual too-old-for-his-age clothes. He interrupts, “Are you ready for practice, Noct? Oh, you’re wearing it...”

“I love it,” Noctis tells his young advisor, eyes still burning. Gladiolus turns to glimpse Ignis’ reaction; he flushes lightly beneath his glasses. He’s always been more susceptible to Noctis’ charm than Gladiolus has, although they’re both usually pretty good at seeing through his bullshit. This time, Ignis just smiles pleasantly. Noctis repeats to Gladiolus, “I’m not taking it off.”

When Ignis doesn’t chime in with his usual reason, Gladiolus knows it’s over. He doesn’t have the heart to take them both on. He agrees, “Fine. But don’t blame me if you rip it.”

“I won’t,” Noctis promises, grinning because he knows he’s own. He shuffles out of his room, having to waddle because of how the costume glues his knees together. He’s never going to make it through practice.

But he’s got to learn some lessons on his own, and Gladiolus doesn’t get paid to teach him common sense. That’s Ignis’ job. So the three of them go down to the training hall and get it over with.


End file.
